


to speak

by danganronpa69



Series: Febuwhump 2021 [14]
Category: DanganRonpa 69: There’s MORE goddamn hope!?
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, yet another ch2 fic. Who’da guessed it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danganronpa69/pseuds/danganronpa69
Summary: day 14: “i didn’t mean it”The Conductor attempts to get some of his thoughts off of his chest.
Series: Febuwhump 2021 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105115
Kudos: 3





	to speak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lennardd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennardd/gifts).



> sorry this is so short, had a bit of writer’s block today.

“I didn’t mean it.” The Conductor spoke at his wall. His words reached absolutely no one but himself. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

Tonight was another one of those nights where he felt the immense weight of regret settle upon him once again. Once again, the intense sadness of loneliness had gripped his heart. Unlike most of the time, tonight he didn’t have it in him to keep his emotions buried in his chest. So he spoke at nothing, speaking his lament into the ears of the nothingness. Could the walls even hear his sorrows, or was being he ignored, his lament bouncing back at him in echoes as he spoke?

Maybe somewhere, somehow, Dedede could hear him. The thought gave him hope, yet it also made him sick with sadness. He attempted to imagine what things would have been like if the roles were reversed. Would Dedede be crying out to him as well? Or would he be fast asleep in his bed, the Conductor barely even a thought in his mind? If Dedede could hear him, did he even care? Was he even listening? Or did his words echo off of him as well?

“Do you even forgive me?” he asked the void. But he knew the answer already.  _ Probably not. _

What reason did Dedede even have to forgive him? Was the Conductor even worthy of forgiveness? No, he wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. Had there ever even been a point in the Conductor’s lifetime where he had been worthy of forgiveness? Upon thinking about it, he realized that there hadn’t been many times, if any at all. Was he truly that awful? Truly that undeserving of anything kind and good, and especially nothing as kind and good as forgiveness?

The Conductor felt his heart sink. But why? This shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Of course he was undeserving of anything good. He’d known this for as long as he could remember. 

...Maybe that isn’t a good thing, he thinks to himself. To have had these thoughts for so long. But then again, what other reason could they have had to stay for so long unless they were truthful? Surely, if they were only there to bring him down, he would have figured out a way to best them already, right? Yet they lingered, taunting him and everything he did. He had grown so used to them that he hadn’t remembered for a very long time that other people don’t hate themselves in a similar way. 

Surely, though, despite everything, his thoughts and memories were telling the truth. Yes, of course they were. He’d deliberated on this before. How was tonight any different than any other night? He was completely irredeemable. Completely undeserving of good things, of affection. He was a terrible, terrible person. Even so, his heart broke a little at those thoughts, and a part of him cried.  _ And how terrible, _ he thought to himself,  _ that even after all this time, you still want that affection. _

It would be for the best if he wasn’t alive. He’d known this for a while, just as he’d known everything else. Killing himself would be wonderful. He’d always wanted to go by his own hand above anything else. Maybe it was to prove something, to show the world that he was capable of good. Yet at the same time, he was always too busy — too lethargic, too hopeless, and surrounded by too many people — to plan out and execute his own suicide. So then he left it up to circumstance. But what were the chances that something deadly would strike him out of nowhere? 

The Conductor sighed. He just wished that Ashley had killed him instead.


End file.
